


I Can Be That Guy

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: Nathan has ulterior motives for wanting Charles to get sloppy.





	I Can Be That Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted: March 9, 2011 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Season 2, after Dethsources. During that DVD extra. You know the one.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"Really?" Nathan's head turned, green eyes flashing with an unholy, inquisitorial light. "You gonna get fucking sloppy?"

"Yes I will," Charles answered without hesitation, meeting the force of Nathan's stare head on. That might have been a mistake, though, because suddenly, jarringly, all he could focus on was Nathan. 

"You gonna get really sloppy?"

"Oh, I'm going to get very sloppy."

The stare fell off as Nathan relaxed back into his half of the couch. "Fuck that, you're all right." 

Charles felt himself relax slightly as well. His pulse was too loud and quick in his ears, and he barely even heard what Toki and Skwisgaar were saying. Something about dope. He focused on breathing slowly, to make the rest of his body slow down as well.

~

Hours later he had lost his tie and most of his higher cognitive functions, proving conclusively (he felt) that texting required little to no actual intelligence. 

So what if Murderface hadn't got the joke? Charles had felt Nathan's eyes flick towards him the moment he'd said "That was me," and the pounding in his ears was back. He swallowed hard and, lacking the will power to calm himself down, met Nathan's gaze. 

The frontman's eyes widened a little, eyebrows shooting up a bit too. Quickly, Charles looked away. How much had been in that look, he wondered, to get a reaction like that?

~

When everyone else was done drinking — passed-out-on-the-bar done drinking — Nathan talked Charles into moving to a booth on the other side of the room to continue somewhat more privately.

"What if someone pukes on your shoes?" was the compelling argument for relocating. "What if one'a these assholes wakes up… and… pukes all over your expensive shoes?"

"If anyone is going to puke on my shoes," Charles protested, following anyway, “it’s probably going to be me." 

And then they were sliding into a booth, Nathan advising him to throw up on his shoes, not in them. They both agreed that this was solid advice. 

Nathan squinted at him. "You look weird without a tie."

"Weird?"

"Like a regular jackoff." One big hand suddenly landed on Charles' head, ruffling his hair until it stood out in every direction. "Heh. Now you look kinda like Pickles in the eighties."

Charles tried to wave his glass dismissively and slopped beer onto his wrist and sleeve. "I'm sure I don't."

Nathan stared intently at him. "No… Well, you look like more of a dude."

"That's good," he replied. His mouth was dry. More drinking, that might help.

There was a pause while Nathan watched him drink. The sharp green eyes seemed to literally follow the liquid, from his mouth to down his throat to the rest of his body, as much as could be seen above the table. It made Charles feel warm all over, as though the drink were burning him from the inside, even though it was just cold beer. 

~

Charles had been drinking all night. He didn't know how much alcohol the boys had actually managed to get into him, but it added up to a lot of liquid. Excusing himself, he tottered into the bathroom and almost groaned in relief as he let it all out. Most of it even made it into the urinal. He was pretty proud of himself for that accomplishment, considering it kept moving around.

And then, when he went back out to return to the booth, Nathan was there, blocking his path. 

"Are you really sloppy?" Nathan demanded. 

"Y…yes?

A hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him down the short hallway, not back to the bar but past the bathrooms to the shadows of the hallway's badly lit dead-end. Then suddenly Charles felt himself trapped firmly against the wall and a mouth on his, kissing hard and… and sloppy.

His mind reeled. His body responded automatically in the absence of mental control, almost frantically. Nathan's hands roamed over him, and Charles fumbled with the buttons of his own shirt because he wanted those hands on his skin. He could feel his blood pounding through his body, not just in his ears but everywhere. 

There was a leg between his, and his own leg snug enough between Nathan's to feel the other man's arousal through his jeans. He moaned into Nathan's mouth, finished with the last shirt button, went lower, for both of them, until his suit pants could be tugged down and half kicked off into the dark, the jeans pushed down to the top of the boots there was no way they could be pulled over.

Something slick on Nathan's fingers — no time to wonder where that had come from — and Charles was pinned to the wall with his feet off the floor, biting his lip and then Nathan's because he was loosing track of which was which. Being stretched, an intimately alien feeling and not something he'd ever been a party to before. He might have protested, might have slid back into the dangerous state of thinking, but for Nathan's kiss. His entire presence, really. Nathan was, Charles sensed, trying to be good about it. Not gentle, it was too rushed and awkwardly placed to be that, but they were clearly both supposed to enjoy this. 

One particular brush of fingertips and Charles believed it too, the way one believed that an electrical socket was working once you'd jammed a metal object into it. His whole body convulsed and he squirmed, trying to recreate the touch. He moaned "Nathan!" sharply into that hungry mouth when the fingers went away. But Nathan only growled, and—

Charles grunted, taking something he really should have expected by this point in as best he could. The trick was apparently to not think about it too much, because whenever he tried nothing happened until Nathan managed to distract him again. He hadn't thought the man was capable of so much patience. And yet, it all happened so fast. 

There wasn't time to think about anything but how it felt. Nathan breathing hard against his mouth, Nathan pounding into him with some consideration for leaving him able to walk later but not much, Nathan still supporting his entire weight in holding him up against the wall. Charles could feel himself sweating, gasping, moaning, arching his back, riding Nathan's cock like it was the only thing that mattered. No deadlines or paperwork, just his suit pants dangling from one ankle and an urgent biological need, the raw, burning pleasure of it, and he was the only one who had a free hand so he was touching himself, thinking, Yes. Yes! Or maybe he was saying it, maybe he was yelling it, he couldn't tell anymore…

And then the climax, and everything rushing into him and almost immediately out again and he could feel wetness on his hand but he was too caught up to see any of it. Eyes half closed, he felt as though he'd been holding his breath and gulped air like a man afraid of drowning. He rested his forehead against Nathan's shoulder — not a bare shoulder, because Nathan hadn't had time to take his shirt off. Charles almost laughed. He hadn't even noticed until he'd felt the cloth on his skin.

Nathan continued to hold him for a moment, then slowly set him on his feet.

"I'll, uhhh... Hang on a minute." A hand on each shoulder positioned him so that he was leaning back against the wall, let go and hovered for a second to make sure he would stay there. Then Nathan walked off, picked something up, and came back. "Here's your pants."

Charles took them dumbly. He watched as Nathan zipped up his own pants, and bit his lip. When approached, his thoughts tuned wispy and elusive, like fog. 

It had been very good sex. 

"I need to clean up," he said, and walked unsteadily into the bathroom where he washed up, put his pants back on, felt himself over gingerly to make sure he was still entirely in one piece, and stood in front of the cracked mirror staring at himself for a long time. Luckily, Nathan didn't follow him and no one else was in the men's room to witness this.

Well, he thought dazedly, I have lost the last bastion of my virginity. Okay then.

Eventually he found the presence of mind to re-button his shirt and go back out.

~

"You're acting weird," Nathan informed him. "And I don't mean that you're still drunk."

They were sitting alone in the dethlimo. The second dethlimo, which Nathan had specifically called for them while he'd been in the bathroom so they wouldn't have to ride home with the rest of the band. 

"I am still drunk," Charles replied distractedly, trying to figure out a way of sitting down without actually sitting down. 

"I know, that's what I'm saying. You're drunk." Nathan squinted at him. "But you're not sloppy. You're thinking too hard again. You just can't… relax and have fun."

Charles opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn't going to be baited. Nathan could spring anything on him that he wanted, even very sudden anal sex, but he couldn’t make him better at talking about personal matters. No, this was a terrible time to have this conversation. 

There was dead silence, thanks to the dethlimo’s very thorough soundproofing. Charles held out approximately two minutes with Nathan staring at him like that. 

"Would you believe that I'd never done that before?"

Nathan looked genuinely startled. "What, sex?"

"No. No, just, ah… that kind."

A frown settled slowly on Nathan's face. "Oh."

"I mean, I have, but… it's…" Flustered, Charles took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his eyes. His next statement was prompted purely by the alcohol still in his system, and came out a little petulant, too. "You put your dick in my ass, Nathan."

He wasn't looking, but the choked sound suggested that Nathan really hadn't been expecting him to say that. Which was mildly comforting only because he hadn't expected to say that either. And that was why they should be having this conversation later, but they weren't. He continued against his better judgement. 

"And now my ass hurts. It hurts to sit down and a lot of my job involves sitting at a desk. I want you to think about that. Because I am thinking about that. It is a very, very big deal to me."

Bigger still was that he could remember everything so well. He wondered if he would in the morning. A tiny part of him hoped he wouldn't… because while he did relish the thought of Nathan wanting him, the idea of anal sex made his stomach twist in odd ways. (It was just so… messy. The prim and well-pressed lawyer in him hated that sort of thing.) It hadn't been a problem at the time only because he hadn't been thinking at the time, but things would be different once he finished sobering up. 

A much larger part of him wanted to remember every detail, every thrill of pleasure, because it would be pretty awful if in the morning all he had to think about was the ache where he had been… vigorously stretched. 

Charles wanted to try and explain all that, but didn't trust himself to. 

"I can… try not to do it again," Nathan mumbled. 

"What?" Charles hurriedly tired to put his glasses on, got it right on the second try, and looked up. "No, don't worry about it, just… I need some time to get used to the idea." He yawned. "And sleep. You did get me sloppy drunk, I need to... sleep it off. And find a new tie."

"Oh. Well… Can I sleep with you?"

Charles couldn't help but smile. "Another time," he promised.

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"… Seriously?"

"Still yes."

Nathan grinned fiercely, and Charles felt his heart skip a beat. "Good."

~

He went to bed thinking that maybe it was okay. There was still a lot of alcohol in his system, but Charles felt almost giddy with the thought of Nathan in a way that even a quick but thorough shower hadn't done much to change. Nathan hadn't been nearly as intoxicated as he was. It hadn't just been some drunken whim.

Actually, Nathan seemed to have gotten him drunk on purpose. That would be another thing to think about in the morning. Charles grabbed for the memorandum pad on his bedside table and jotted a quick list of things he would need to think about when he woke up. 

The last thing on the list was probably "Talk to Nathan, would kiss again," but he was lying on his writing arm and fell asleep somewhere in the midst of writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on Charles, ahem, bottoming for first time.


End file.
